The Flame and the Hawk's Eye
by The Flame and Hawk's Eye
Summary: A collection of my contributions for Royai Week 2015. Chapter 2: Roy could only hold off the rain for so long...
1. Skin

**A/N** : _Here's my contribution to the prompt "Skin" for Royai Week. Enjoy,! :)_

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Every mark, every imperfection upon their skin is itself a story to be told. Stories that collide and intertwine so severely that telling the stories of only one would do no justice unless the tales of the other be told as well.

Upon her back a story of familial devotion, of betrayal, of dreams that were consumed by flames, and then subsequently raised from the roaring fire like a phoenix. Curved, perfect lines crisscrossing and intersecting to weave and tell the tale of a perfected, deadly art. They form an array so potent and amazing that the only parchment worthy of its inscription is the flawless, impeccable skin of Riza Hawkeye, the artist's daughter.

These lines and their woven tales, however, are interrupted –marred- by the very art they are designated to define. The ugly, raised scars that disrupt them demand their story be told; a tale that is filled with muffled screams and silent tears and whispered apologies that once fell on deaf ears.

Then there is her neck. The raised disfigurement once stained bright crimson racing from her collarbone to her opposite ear tells of heartache and desperation, and a life that dangled by a simple thread. To see it causes a pang of guilt that rocks him to his core, reminding him just how close he was to having his story become a tragedy.

He, however, is not without scars that told his tale.

Upon the skin of his fingers are scars that tell tales of the infernal, fiery beast that occasionally bites him back whenever he calls upon it to do his bidding. Skin forever calloused and rough from the devastating hellfire he used to consume the lives of thousands of innocent souls. These scars and imperfections inflicted upon his skin constantly remind him of the blood that would forever remain on his hands… and hers.

The old wound on his side tells an entirely different tale: a tale of loyalty, determination, and lust for retribution. It has a semblance to the marks on her back; though this is something he could bear to look at without an overwhelming sense of regret…

Using the glow of the moonlight as his guide, Roy Mustang carefully reached out and brushed calloused, guilty fingers across the ugly and twisted skin on her shoulder, causing her to tense.

Inhaling deeply, Riza shifted and rolled over to face him, her brows knitted together with concern. She whispered his name and he shook his head dismissively, muttering that there was nothing to worry about as he smiled lightly.

Unconvinced by this, she reached out and delicately ran her hand down his arm, stopping when she came to his scar. Her eyes wandered to it as she moved her hand from his forearm to his side.

Moving one hand to rest atop hers, he reached out with the other and pressed it against her cheek. When her sherry eyes flickered up to find his, they shared a brief, silent exchange before she accepted his muted claims and ducked away from the hand on her cheek and nestled into his chest, bare skin pressed against bare skin.

Reaching around her, Roy pulled her even closer and rested his chin atop her head. As he absently rubbed small circles on the tarnished skin of her shoulder, he could feel her grip on his side loosen as she began to drift once more, a content sigh escaping her as she once again slipped back into her dreams.

After following suit and closing his eyes as well, Roy soon found that he was lingering aimlessly on the edge of wakefulness and sleep, his mind still swimming with thoughts of blood and fire.

But then… A small breath from Riza bathed his chest with warm air and drew him from his recollections and away from the darkness that had begun to set in. Pressing his lips to the top of her head, he closed his eyes again and focused on her quiet breathing and the warmth of her skin against his as he, at last, began to succumb to sleep…

Every mark, every imperfection upon their skin is itself a story to be told. Their skin holds tales of tears and guilt, redemption and love. Stories and lives so intertwined that, without the other, they would be _incomplete_.


	2. Rain

**A/N: _I decided to just put my contributions for Royai Week under one story. So please enjoy :) (And hah, that fic name...)_**

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Reaching up, Roy Mustang stealthily rubbed his watering eye. Why he felt the need to be covert, he didn't know: because there was no one else there.

Everyone had left hours ago and the mayhem and chaos followed after them, leaving that hospital room so quiet that a pin drop would definitely awaken her; a wakefulness she did not need after everything that had happened…

So now that they were alone, the day's events were finally able to play through his mind completely undisturbed and all at once, evoking a response he knew was well overdue.

It happened earlier the previous morning when they were about to settle down for breakfast. He remembers pulling out Riza's chair and inviting her to sit. But after she graciously accepted it and was about to sink into the chair, her grip on her plate loosened and it slipped from her hand, shattering into hundreds of pieces the moment it hit the floor.

When she doubled over and clutched her abdomen, he was instantly at her side, his arm over her shoulder and his hand reaching up to her stomach. He recalls her gasping, "Not now… It's too early!"

It was too early… Two months too early.

Leaving her for just a moment, he catapulted himself over their couch and reached their phone, clumsily dialing the hospital's number. After shakily blathering out his credentials and information, he finally managed to inform them of their inevitable arrival.

When he reached Riza again, she was sitting back on her heels and holding her stomach, rocking gently as another contraction ripped through her. And when she refused to stand, Roy scooped her into his arms and jogged out to their car, sliding her into the passenger's seat moments before he collapsed into the driver's side.

Despite the fact the hospital was only a few minutes away; Roy vaguely recalls feeling as if the drive took hours until they finally arrived.

The second they pulled to the hospital, staff members were already outside and waiting for them with a wheelchair. Sidestepping the nurse that had opened her door, Roy was the one to lift her out of the car and place her into the seat.

He remained glued to her side, his hand wrapped around hers, as they rushed down the hallway and toward the neonatal ward. But when they reached the doors, the nurses explained to him that he would have to remain behind while they perform the initial diagnostics. So reluctantly, begrudgingly, he remained behind, standing in the middle of the hallway as they disappeared behind the set of swinging doors.

At one point the Elrics had been there, his team, Gracia and Elicia… All of their eyes were on him at all times, watching for signs of worry…and rain. But despite the fact a dark cloud hung above him as he paced back and forth, back and forth, the rain never came.

When they came to get him a while later, he jumped out of his seat and flew down the hall after them and to her room. Seeing her, Roy rushed over to Riza's side and resumed his position next to her, taking her hand between his as the doctors continued encouraging her to push.

It wasn't until after the new day began that Maes Mustang was born; the small but healthy newborn coming into the world at 01:14 in the morning on the 11th of June, 1921.

After that there was a never-ending stream of 'congratulations' and well-meaning instructions from those that were already parents, though now, Roy found, he couldn't remember a single conversation that had been had.

All that mattered at that moment was what was before him. Leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees, he took in the scene and its wonder.

His beautiful wife, sleeping soundly with a small smile painted across her delicate features. Her arm was delicately draped over the small bundle resting on her chest, the perfect dark-haired, dark-eyed babe sleeping as peacefully as his mother.

When a tear found itself escaping his eye, he did not immediately wipe it away, allowing himself to relish it and this moment because-

"Roy… Are you alright?"

Tearing his eyes away from his son, Roy looked into her sherry eyes and grinned sheepishly as he wiped his cheek. "I am… I'm better than ever," he murmured quietly as he scooted his chair forward and brushed her fringe away, planting a soft kiss on her forehead. Pulling away, he added,"How are you feeling?"

"Exhausted," she admitted with a light smile. "I guess fifteen hours of labor would do that to you though, right?" After he hummed softly in reply, she looked down at the still sleeping child and muttered, "Maes Mustang; having to make his presence known as loudly and obnoxiously as possible… A lot like his namesake," she added with a warm smile as she glanced up at Roy again.

Roy nodded as he laughed quietly, hoping she wouldn't notice that the dark cloud had begun to let go again…

But, of course, she did.

Stabilizing her hold on their sleeping child, she freed one hand and pressed it against his cheek, brushing the away the tear that freed itself from his eye. After searching his face for a moment, she murmured, "He'd be proud, Roy."

Reaching up and resting his hand on hers, he said, "Proud or happy because I finally got that wife he kept pestering me about?"

"Both," she answered with a grin. Seemingly satisfied by his drying eyes, she pulled her hand away and readjusted her hold on the baby, causing the child to awaken and begin to quietly fuss.

He instinctively reached out and opened his hands, inviting the child into his arms. Seeing this, Riza smiled and gently lifted him away from her chest, handing him over to her husband.

Resting the child in the crook of his arm, Roy began to gently rock the child back and forth, back and forth until the fussing baby quieted, lolled once again into a sound sleep.

Throughout this, he could feel the rain again as he marveled at their child and his splendor, at his wife and her beauty. All of it… Perfection.

He relished them and this moment, cherished it; because this rain was a happy one.


	3. Blindness

**A/N:** _I apologize for the double emails if anyone got them for this chapter. I posted it while on mobile and when I went back to check it later it looked off on my phone? So I removed it and decided to just repost it. So here's my short and sweet (and probably last) contribution for Royai Week prompt six: "Blindness." Enjoy!_

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For just one night, they decided.

For one night they would be blind. Blind to the fact that they were superior officer and subordinate. Blind to the knowledge that a relationship such as this was strictly forbidden, the consequences steep and detrimental. Blind to it as their lips met the other's hungrily.

For just one night they would forget. Forget the sins they had committed and the horrors they had seen. Forget the blood that stained their hands red and would never be washed clean.

For one night they would pretend. Pretend that he was hers and she was his. Pretend that what they were in actuality was not the truth and was not what they would wake up to tomorrow.

For one night they would give in. Give in to their passionate, fiery desires. Give in to their prolonged, wanting stares and brief, but meaningful, contact defined by brushing shoulders or misplaced hands.

For one night they would love. Love each other beyond what is expected of them, but what is still suspected by those closest to them. Love each other as a man and woman so enamored with the other should love. Love the feeling of the other's body rocking against theirs; love the intoxicating scent of the other's skin.

For one night they would simply just be. Be together as one rather than two. Be something that they could only be in their dreams as they laid together in a mess of tangled sheets and long-removed clothes, a concept they both constantly craved and wished was actual for them.

For one night, just one single night, they would allow themselves the company of the other. To chase the nightmares of raging infernos and blood-red throats away; holding each other until the light of dawn wakes them and hurls them back into the harsh and structured reality that awaited them.

Tonight they would be blind, knowing that tomorrow they would return to superior and subordinate. Once again stealing glances and sharing light touches, selfishly hoping, praying, that they could be blind again.

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 ** _Happy Royai Week!_**


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